


they say you gotta stay hungry (hey baby, i'm just about starvin' tonight)

by imyoursandthatsitwhatever



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove is Just Happy to Be Here, Clubbing, Feat. Billy & Max Christmas Sweetness, First Time, Hotel Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Praise Kink, Steve Harrington Knows What He Wants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24420016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imyoursandthatsitwhatever/pseuds/imyoursandthatsitwhatever
Summary: “What do you want, Steve?” Billy asks roughly, tugging again at Steve’s hair. He watches as Steve glances down at the ground, his tongue peeking out to lick across the seam of his lips, before he raises his head to fix Billy with a burning stare.“I want you to fuck me.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 39
Kudos: 328





	they say you gotta stay hungry (hey baby, i'm just about starvin' tonight)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Dancing in the Dark.

The club lights are blinding, blowing out bright and tinged neon, soaking the crowd of dancing bodies in lime green, hot pink, and aquamarine. Billy is leaned up against the bar, shirt undone down to his navel, raking his eyes across the dance floor with a stormy expression, as if every single individual in view has personally offended him.

Fuck this place. To be fair, it’s not like he had been _expecting_ much, but if this is the best gay bar Indiana has to offer, he might have to drive the Camaro into a fucking telephone pole tonight. His fingers tighten around his glass, clutching the shot of whiskey the olive-skinned bartender had poured him without even so much as a second glance. Billy had smiled, lips pulling across his teeth, charming but not _genuine_ , and taken a good look into the guy’s eyes—deep green, with little specks of gold—when he had pushed the drink across the bar. Pretty, maybe, but not the eyes he was looking for.

He shoots back the rest of the whiskey, grimacing at the burn as it travels its way down. There’s not a single guy worth two shits in this bar, he’s already checked, _twice_ , but he doesn’t want to go home. Neil and Susan are out of town, Max is at a sleepover, and for once in his miserable life, he’s got nowhere to be and no one to answer to. He signals to the bartender for another, and he watches as he pours it with an easy, skilled tip of the bottle, waving Billy off when he presses a crumpled bill towards him.

“It’s on me,” is all he says, smoothly, sending Billy a flash of teeth before turning to the next customer. Billy tosses the bill into the tip jar and takes a long, burning sip, feeling a pleasant buzz beginning to thrum in his veins. At least he can get drunk here and not worry about being carded, thanks to his new _friend_.

His knuckles start tapping on the bar to the next song, the one by Cutting Crew that’s always on the radio, but it’s some sort of remix, a thumping bass line added behind the melody. When the chorus hits, the dance floor goes wild, bodies gyrating and moving in sync to the beat. Billy throws the rest of his drink back, determined to at least get out there and dance to one fucking song because he isn’t a _pussy_ , he came here for a good time and he’ll get it even if it kills him.

The glass hits the bar with a dull thud as he slams it down, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand and spinning around to stalk off to the dance floor—before promptly colliding with someone, heads knocking together with enough force to send them both flying backwards.

Billy hears the guy let out a surprised groan of pain as Billy hunches over, staring at the booze-soaked floor, his vision swimming. He raises his hand to his forehead, grazing his fingertips over the point of impact to find a real impressive welt forming. _Great._ Even at a goddamn bar, the universe finds a way to fuck up his face.

“Sorry, man, I—” The guy immediately stops talking, and Billy’s heart starts pounding a mile a minute in his chest because he _knows_ that voice. He raises his head slowly, eyes wide in disbelief, as he finds none other than Steve Harrington standing in front of him, completely frozen.

The universe continues to well and truly fuck with him tonight. 

He really shouldn’t be surprised—should probably be _expecting_ this kind of bullshit at this point—but he can’t really help how his eyes linger on how _good_ Harrington looks. He’s wearing a black blazer and tight, dark wash jeans, hair coiffed all pretty and perfect, slightly mussed like he’d just run his fingers through it. Billy’s fingertips itch at the thought, wondering if it’d be soft under his hands or if it’d be tacky with product. He wouldn’t really give a shit either way, would fucking _die_ to bury his hands in that hair, tug at the roots to pull Steve closer, and press a dirty kiss to that pretty pink mouth.

“Harrington.” Billy straightens, looking off to the side as if he sees something interesting, tacking on a laugh for good measure. “Have to say, I didn’t expect to see you here.” He looks back to find Steve staring at him, mouth open wide, pride burning white-hot in his chest when he catches Steve's eyes flicking down his body.

"I, um. I'm here with a _friend_ ," Steve replies dumbly, still staring at Billy like he can't quite believe his eyes.

As if on cue, a brunette sidles up next to him, holding two drinks, dark like cola. "Hey, dingus, I got us— _oh_.”

Her eyes land on Billy and her lips part in shock, eyebrows flying up past her bangs. Billy knows her—Buckley, he thinks. She's in his AP Lit class, kind of a loud mouth but knows what she's talking about when it comes to Shakespeare.

"Billy Hargrove, as I live and breathe," Buckley declares, not missing a beat. "Fancy meeting you here."

They stare each other down for a second, Billy's eyes flickering back to Steve as he takes a stab at analyzing the situation before him. Steve's here with a friend. Buckley. He's caught her staring wistfully at the back of Heather's ponytail in History more than once, figured she might have just had a little hair envy, but _this_ might make more sense. And Steve? That could go either way. He could be here in solidarity, looking out for his friend, or he could be… _Well._ That was an idea Billy didn’t dare even entertain.

He realizes, distantly, that he should probably be terrified that two people from his school have seen him here. One word from Harrington or Buckley and he might as well pick out a headstone. His father didn't take kindly to _fags_ , after all; had made that abundantly clear back in Santa Monica when he gifted Billy a broken arm and a jaw to match before moving them halfway across the country.

But Billy has seen them here, too. The danger, the need for secrecy, is mutual. So, he plays it cool.

“Fancy, indeed, Buckley. You come here often?” Billy cocks his head to the side, licking across his teeth, trying his best to knock her off her game. To her credit, Buckley stands strong, straightening up to face him.

“First time, Hargrove. You?” Her tone is accusatory, like she knows he’s trying to throw her and she isn’t lying down to take it from him. She’s got some fire in her. Billy can respect that.

Steve shifts uncomfortably when Billy’s gaze lands on him. “Nope, first time,” Billy replies, fixing Steve with a piercing stare. He drinks in the sight of those eyes he’d been wishing for earlier, practically buzzing out of his skin when Steve doesn’t look away.

“We’re taking a weekend trip. You know, to get away. Some people we ran into said this was a cool place,” Steve replies evenly. He’s pretty convincing, but Billy’s always been good at searching out tells, and he finds them in the way Steve’s fingers are shaking and how he purses his lips when he’s done talking, as if something about the words tasted sour.

“Uh huh. Interesting. Well. It’s been a real _treat_ running into you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need another drink.” Billy turns back to the bar, sliding a bill towards the bartender, who takes one look at Billy’s face and pours him a double. He downs it in one go, feeling his veins sing with it, and hunches up his shoulders, leaning up against the bar ledge. _Fuck._ Steve fucking Harrington. Of all the goddamn bars, in all the goddamn cities, he’d made his way to the one place where Billy thought no one from Hawkins would ever find him.

He glances over at the bartender then, crooking a finger when he glances his way. Billy plasters on a pretty smile as the guy wanders over, already reaching for the bottle of Jack. “When are you off?” Billy asks, syrupy-sweet, leaning over the bar. He’d oiled his chest up before he came out tonight, knows how fucking _good_ he looks, and he can’t help but feel a little proud when the bartender nearly drops the bottle in surprise.

“Just about to go on break, actually,” he replies smoothly, which they both know is a goddamn lie. 

“Billy.” Billy sticks his hand out across the bar, preening as the bartender looks him over before grabbing it and squeezing. A crooked grin is tugging at his lips, his eyes sparkling.

“Damien,” he replies, topping off Billy’s drink before letting the bottle drop back into the rail. “So, who’s the guy?”

“Guy?” Billy asks, feigning innocence. Damien laughs, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t play dumb with me, I can smell that shit from a mile away. The _guy._ The one you were just talking to. He’s got you all hot and bothered, I can tell. What’s the story?”

Billy groans as Damien gestures to the other bartender, a blonde with big tits stuffed into a crop top, before he steps out from behind the bar and joins Billy.

“We go to school together in a shitty hick town. He’s all broken up about his prissy girlfriend dumping him. Oh, and he hates my guts, so. Doesn’t really help my case.” Billy tips the glass towards Damien and takes a swig, trying and failing not to notice Harrington dancing with Buckley about ten feet away.

Damien laughs, and it’s a real nice fucking sound, a little breathy at the end, _easy._ “Let’s see if we can get his attention, then,” he whispers conspiratorially, gesturing Billy towards the dance floor. Billy sneaks one more glance at Steve, who’s got his head thrown back as he moves to the music, Buckley laughing and bumping their hips together.

“Show me what you got,” Billy replies coolly, letting Damien grab his hand and lead him out onto the floor.

The guy’s not shy, for one. He finds a spot right in the center, and the crowd parts easily for him, almost like they know whatever’s coming next is going to be good. A new song starts up, with a strong beat and a wailing guitar, and Billy’s never felt more in his element when he feels strong hands settle solidly on his hips and they start swaying back and forth to the music.

Damien’s got a nice fucking chest—Billy can feel the hard planes of his abs against his back as he moves, strong muscled arms wrapping around his torso, pressing him in close. Billy arches back into the touch and feels the hard curve of a cock against his ass. His eyes flutter shut, the sensation heady and dizzying, until he feels a warm puff of breath next to his ear.

“He’s staring.” Billy casually inclines his head to the right, his gaze meeting Steve’s for a split second before he abruptly turns his attention back to Buckley. Even from here, Billy can see the tell-tale signs of a blush burning its way across Steve’s stupidly gorgeous cheekbones.

“You think it’s working?” Billy murmurs, grinding his ass against the front of Damien’s jeans, biting back a groan as Damien tilts his hips forward to meet him, the hard outline of his cock trapped between them.

“Definitely,” Damien replies, keeping his voice low as he trails a finger down the front of Billy’s chest, stopping just above his navel and pulling away. Billy feels the burn of the touch long after it leaves him, and he huffs out a sigh, closing his eyes and imagining it’s Steve pressing up against him, touching him with soft, slender fingers, whispering in his ear—

“Hey.” Billy’s eyes snap open, Damien’s laughter sounding in his ear. He turns to find Steve standing next to them, holding onto his middle and staring at the ground like he wants to melt into it.

“Looks like my break’s over,” Damien replies easily, shooting Billy an encouraging wink before heading back to the bar.

“Harrington, how can I help you?” Billy drawls, like his heart isn’t beating a thousand miles a minute right now.

“Can I bum a smoke?” he asks, which is surprising, because Billy was almost certain Steve had quit—if Tommy H’s pitiful little obsession with his ex-best friend was anything to go by, anyway.

“Uh, sure,” Billy replies, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He nods towards the exit door and Steve follows him wordlessly. They pass Buckley on the way out, dancing with a girl that looks suspiciously like Heather, and Billy swears he sees her give Harrington a thumbs up. _What the fuck._

The night air is cool and crisp, soothing against the hot flush of Billy’s skin as they step into the back alley. Billy leans up against the rough brick of the wall, pulling his pack of Marlboros out of his jeans and handing one to Steve, before lighting his own and taking a long, deep pull. He watches the smoke curl up into the sky, mixing with the stars, before reaching over with his Zippo to light Steve’s.

Steve smiles at him gratefully, taking a hesitant drag on the cigarette. Billy notices the way his eyebrows draw together, almost like it tastes funny, but Steve does his best to play if off.

“Thought you quit,” Billy comments casually, sucking on the end of his cigarette before blowing out a perfect smoke ring into the night sky.

“I did. Just… had a craving, I guess,” Steve replies quietly, pointedly avoiding looking at Billy as he takes another drag, kicking at some gravel with the toe of his sneaker.

Billy stares at him for an extended moment, weighing his odds, before turning to Steve, hip cocked against the brick wall. “Steve,” Billy says, keeping his tone even, careful. Steve’s head snaps up, his eyes wide, looking at him in confusion. Billy doesn’t blame him; he’s never said his name before. “What are we doing out here?”

Steve sighs, the cigarette between his fingers long forgotten. “Robin and I made a bet,” he replies quietly.

The heat singing through his veins immediately turns to ice. Billy feels his lips turn up into a snarl and tries to tamp down the rage he knows is coming, because he really doesn’t want to bloody Steve’s face up tonight. Not when he looks so goddamn good.

“A bet,” he begins tersely, “A bet about _what,_ exactly?”

Steve takes a hurried drag on the cigarette, as if it might grant him some courage, before the truth comes tumbling inelegantly from his lips. 

“She bet me twenty bucks that I wouldn’t be brave enough to ask you to dance.”

_Wouldn’t be brave enough._ That’s... not quite what Billy was expecting. 

“So let me get this straight. You came and interrupted me, while I was dancing with a guy—A _nice_ guy, by the way,” Billy says pointedly, leaning closer, “Because Buckley bet you twenty bucks to ask me to dance. I’m failing to see what the damn urgency was, pretty boy. Why not wait ‘til the song was over?”

Steve stands up straighter then, finally meeting Billy’s gaze head-on. His eyes are harder around the edges than normal, missing their usual softness, and there’s something Billy sees in them that he doesn’t quite recognize. “Didn’t want to lose my nerve,” Steve replies quietly, and he doesn’t tear his gaze away. Billy searches frantically for a tell, something to signify Steve is lying, but he comes up empty.

“All right. So ask me,” Billy challenges, taking one last drag from his cigarette before throwing it to the ground, crushing it with the toe of his boot. 

Steve bites his lip, looking unsure, running a nervous hand through his hair as he looks off down the alleyway. After a heavy pause, he takes a single step forward—Billy’s breath catches somewhere in his throat when Steve reaches out to run his hand along the edge of his shirt, caressing the fabric between his fingertips. 

Only the distant sounds of cars speeding down the highway and the faint music of the club fill the silence that stretches between them, Billy’s heartbeat pounding frantically against his ribcage, until Steve finally murmurs, “Wanna dance with me?”

Billy’s too stunned to answer at first, frozen in place as he watches Steve _waiting,_ his expression growing more and more perplexed the longer Billy stays silent. 

“Only ‘cause you asked so nice,” he finally replies, a little more breathlessly than he would have liked. Steve smiles in relief, but there’s a glint in his eye, like he knows something Billy doesn’t. He chucks his half-finished cigarette over by the dumpster and heads back inside, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Billy’s following.

Reentering the club is a shock to the system, the smell of cheap vodka and the bright neon lights hitting him full-force as he follows Steve towards the dance floor. He doesn’t know what the fuck is happening right now, if this is some elaborate ruse that’s gonna have Tommy H. and the basketball team bursting out of the over-sized disco ball hanging from the ceiling, but he doesn’t fucking _care_ , because Steve’s reaching out for his hand now, holding it tightly as they cross the floor.

He feels the electricity from Steve’s touch all the way from the tips of his fingertips straight to his dick, and he takes a deep, shaky breath as Steve eventually finds them a spot among the crowd, twisting around to face Billy. Steve’s movements are slow and measured as he loops a finger through Billy’s belt loop, tugging to bring him closer. They’re almost nose-to-nose, and Billy can practically taste the sweetness of rum and Coke on Steve’s breath. Steve stares at him for a second, almost like he’s searching for something, before very purposefully reaching down and placing both hands on Billy’s hips.

“This okay?” Steve asks, and Billy _swears_ he sounds nervous. The music seems to grow quieter, the crowd steadily fading from view, until all Billy can feel is Steve’s hands on him.

Billy nods, and Steve takes that as an invitation to carefully spin Billy around, pulling him tightly to his chest. “And this?” Steve whispers into Billy’s ear, squeezing lightly at his hips, and _fuck_ , Billy could get struck by lightning at this exact second and die happily, no complaints.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by him that this is the exact position Damien had him in, almost as if Steve had been taking notes. And Billy had been _thinking_ about Steve, holding him like this, and like hell if he’s gonna let it go to waste. “Yeah, that’s good,” Billy replies breathlessly, tipping his head back as they start to move together, finding the beat and twisting his hips to the rhythm of it.

He hears a muffled groan and then Steve’s lips are ghosting over the smooth skin of his neck, gently pressing against his pulse point. Billy bites back a moan when he feels a hesitant scrape of teeth, his dick straining against the fly of his jeans. “What—” he starts, panting and breathless, before he feels Steve sucking a mark into the flesh, and the words die on his tongue.

Steve presses his palms flat against Billy’s hips and pulls him even closer, his ass flush against Steve’s front, and Billy can’t help the gasp that slips out of his mouth when he feels the hard outline of Steve’s dick in his jeans. _Fuck_ , he’d always wondered what it might feel like, pressed up against him like this, and something about feeling the length and the girth all at the same time has his mouth watering.

The song changes but Steve doesn’t pull away yet, still sucking a mark deep into the skin of Billy’s neck, one of his hands wandering from Billy’s hips to slip under the fabric of his shirt, brushing its way across one of his nipples. Billy keens and arches up into the touch, can hear Steve laughing softly as he finally releases his hold on Billy’s neck, gently squeezing the nub between his thumb and forefinger.

“You like that?” Steve breathes into Billy’s ear, the words going straight to Billy’s dick—and he wants to enjoy it, he really does, but red flags are everywhere and he needs to slow this the _fuck_ down. It takes more effort than he’s proud of, but he succeeds in pulling away from Steve, whipping around to face him properly.

“What kind of game are you playing here, Harrington? ‘Cause if this is a joke, believe me, I’m not in the fucking mood.” 

Steve glances pointedly at Billy’s mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before his gaze travels upwards, locking Billy in place. His pupils are blown wide when he responds, slowly and evenly, “I’m not joking.”

They stare each other down for a moment, Billy’s hands curled defensively into fists at his sides, watching warily as Steve steps closer. Billy stiffens when Steve reaches out again, tugging him in by his belt loops, but he goes easily, lets Steve crowd him until their faces are mere inches apart.

“Wanna know why Robin made that bet with me?” Steve asks, his warm breath fanning across Billy’s lips. He _desperately_ wants to taste the rum on Steve’s tongue, lick it out of his mouth until he doesn’t taste like anything except _Billy._

“Tell me,” Billy demands, but it comes out soft, _desperate_ , more like a plea.

Steve grins, looking down pointedly as he splays a hand over Billy’s bare chest, his heart beating thunderously loud beneath his fingertips. “‘Cause she knows I’m into you, and she’s sick of me not doing anything about it.”

Billy barely even has time to breathe before Steve’s lips are moving against his, achingly slow, his hands settling against the small of Billy’s back to pull him closer. Billy’s hand immediately slides up to bury itself in Steve’s hair, pleasantly soft beneath his fingertips, as he slips his tongue past Steve’s teeth and licks into his mouth, tasting the familiar sweetness of Malibu.

_Fuck_ , Steve is a good goddamn kisser. Billy’s never been kissed by someone so fucking _thoroughly_ , enough to leave him dizzy with it. Steve’s hands are everywhere all at once, squeezing his ass, thumbing his nipples, tugging lightly at his hair, stroking across his jawline—It’s been _years_ since anyone has touched him like this, so _reverently_ , reading his body like a goddamn roadmap.

He can’t even hear the music anymore, can only hear Steve’s breathy little sighs and his own heart beating, threatening to burst right through his ribcage. Steve is hard again, pressing into Billy’s hip, and Billy rocks into him once, his brain going hazy with _want_ when their dicks brush against each other through denim. 

Steve pulls away abruptly, resting his forehead against Billy’s, panting heavily. “I um, I have a room,” he says breathlessly, tugging at the edge of Billy’s shirt and staring down at the ground, suddenly shy.

Billy laughs, startled. “Don’t you mean you and _Buckley_ have a room?”

A blush burns brightly across Steve’s cheeks and he purses his lips, his eyes flicking up towards Billy. “Yeah, but uh, she can get another room. She kind of already offered.”

Billy’s gonna have to talk to Heather and see if there might be more to that _phase_ she told him about, because now, he owes Buckley one.

"You sure about this, Harrington?" Billy asks skeptically. He's pretty sure Steve has had two drinks tops, but shit is moving _fast_ and Billy can't help but wonder if Steve arrived here in some sort of altered state. Buckley doesn't strike him as a cokehead, but with the way this night is going, anything is possible.

"I'm sure," he whispers, his breath fanning warm and sweet against Billy's face, "Are you?"

Billy pretends to think about it, because he doesn't want Harrington to believe all the rumors about him being an easy lay, because he's _not_. He has standards. If Steve just so happens to check every box on that list, what he doesn't know won't kill him.

"All right," he drawls, reaching out to run his thumb across Steve's mouth, pressing into the fat of his bottom lip. Billy's breath stutters to a stop when Steve parts his lips, sucking his thumb into his mouth and laving over it with his tongue. The sensation zips through Billy's chest straight down to his cock, and he groans, pulling his thumb out of Steve's mouth with an obscene _pop_.

"Jesus, you're fuckin' dirty, Harrington. You got a porn gig on the side?" 

Steve doesn't reply, just gazes at Billy with a mischievous smirk, like _maybe I do._ His hands are twitching at Billy's hips, tugging lightly at the waistband of his jeans, as if he's hungry to tear them off of him. Billy can't help but wonder what Steve's reaction will be when he finds nothing but bare skin underneath.

"You want to have another drink, or—” Billy starts, but Steve cuts him off with a bruising kiss, fingers splayed sweetly across his cheeks. Any intelligent thought flies out the damn window, and all he's left with are soft, pretty pink lips moving against his, and a sweet little kitten lick into his mouth that makes his toes curl inside his boots.

"I've got booze in the room," Steve murmurs against his lips, threading their fingers together before hauling Billy off the dance floor, helpless to do anything but follow.

He’s in the middle of wondering if maybe he’d gotten knocked out earlier when he crashed skulls with Harrington, and this is just some kind of wet dream fantasy his traitorous brain had cooked up, when the cool night air hits his face and catapults him back to reality.

Steve is gazing at him through half-lidded eyes, his face illuminated by faint moonlight as he walks Billy back, pressing him lightly into the brick wall of the club. Normally he’d hate being caged in like this, would bare his teeth and strike out like a cornered animal, but Steve is so fucking _gentle_ about it. Honestly, it should feel like a power play, getting Billy right where Steve wants him with no hopes of escaping, but it’s more _intimate_ than that—like all he wants is to have Billy as close to him as possible. 

Billy’s eyes flutter closed when he feels a featherlight kiss on his temple. Steve’s breath is warm against his cheek as he finds his ear next, brushing his lips across the shell of it before taking his earlobe into his mouth, sucking on it gently. Billy can’t help the whine that tears itself from his throat.

He doesn’t like to talk about it, but his ears are fucking _sensitive_. Might have something to do with how viciously he was bullied back in grade school, before his hair was long enough to cover up the funny way his ears stuck out, snot-nosed kids calling him shit like _Dumbo_ and _circus freak_. He hadn’t taken any of it lying down, even broke a nose about it here or there, but as soon as his mom split he started growing his hair out. Then he shoved a needle through one of ‘em on his sixteenth birthday and it felt a hell of a lot like giving those shitty bullies a middle finger.

Steve is annoyingly perceptive and seems to get the message that Billy’s pretty _into_ whatever he’s doing, so he keeps going, gently nibbling at the lobe and running his tongue along the sensitive spot behind it. Billy shivers, feeling his dick hardening against Steve’s thigh, and Steve leans in closer, shoving a hand under Billy’s shirt and stroking his fingers across his flushed skin.

“You keep doing that, we’re never gonna make it to the room,” Billy murmurs when Steve switches to the other ear, sighing as he finally lets himself go boneless, head hitting the wall behind him with a gentle thud.

“I don’t mind,” Steve whispers back, nipping once more at Billy’s ear before nosing down his neck, pressing open mouthed kisses all the way down to his collarbone. Billy smooths a hand through Steve’s hair and tugs lightly so that he straightens up to face him, Steve blinking at him a couple times in confusion.

“What do you want, Steve?” Billy asks roughly, tugging again at Steve’s hair. He watches as Steve glances down at the ground, his tongue peeking out to lick across the seam of his lips, before he raises his head to fix Billy with a burning stare.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Billy’s knees almost give out, he’s so thrown by the words, how fucking dirty and _obscene_ they sound coming from that pretty pink mouth. A growl rips its way from deep in Billy’s throat and he slips his hands under Steve’s thighs and hoists him up, spinning them around so that Steve’s back goes crashing into the alley wall.

Steve lets out a surprised gasp, staring at Billy with wide eyes as Billy holds him up, hands digging roughly into the meat of his thighs. Steve wraps his legs around Billy, crossing his ankles in an effort to bring him closer. Billy groans and rocks his hips forward, luxuriating in the warmth of Steve pressed flush against him. He’s dying to rip off the blazer and the soft cotton T-shirt underneath, ready to bite at creamy white skin and count all the fucking moles he’s seen in the showers, scattered across Steve’s body like tiny stars, just begging for Billy’s tongue and teeth to map them into constellations.

Billy surges forward to latch onto a mole about halfway down Steve’s neck, scraping his teeth across it and laving over it with his tongue. “ _Billy_ ,” Steve breathes out, wanton and _needy_. Billy groans into his neck when he feels Steve thrust against him, the delicious friction of their cocks rubbing together through their jeans, and he bites down, hard and unforgiving, so much so that Steve yelps in his ear.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time,” Billy grits out, sliding his hands back to squeeze Steve’s ass through the denim, “You sure about this?”

“Hotel’s two blocks down,” Steve pants as Billy rolls his hips forward experimentally, chasing the previous friction, “I told you, I’m _sure_.”

Billy chews on his lip, mulling over Steve’s answer. Something is still bothering him, niggling at the edges of his mind, and he has to get it straight before things go any further.

“Why me?” 

It’s a loaded question, a hell of a lot unsaid in those two words. _Why do you want me when I beat your brains in? When I’ve done nothing but taunt you and hurt you? Why do you want me when you could have anyone you wanted, looking like that?_

Steve smiles at him then, soft and sweet, cradling the back of Billy’s head as he leans in to place a chaste kiss on Billy’s lips. “Ask me when we get to the hotel,” Steve murmurs, brushing his nose against Billy’s before pulling away, “I promise I’ll tell you then.”

There’s something about the tone of Steve’s voice when he says it, something that reaches deep into Billy and touches him in a way he’d forgotten he could even feel. _I promise._ Nobody promised him anything, and even if they did, they never kept it. His mom had promised she’d always love him, and look where that got him. 8 years old, scrubbing her blood out of the kitchen tiles, staring at a door he prayed she’d walk back through someday—and finally realizing, four years later, that she was never coming home.

Steve’s promise feels different, because Billy has no right to ask him for anything, and yet, Steve is offering something to him. And yeah, maybe it’s an empty promise—maybe Steve is just fucking with him and Billy’s too goddamn infatuated not to fall for it. But he doesn’t think that’s what’s going on here. There’s something about Steve that’s always been real fucking genuine, especially in the way he’s never had a poker face; he wears his emotions plainly on his face for the world to see. 

Billy’s never been like that. Every day he’s walking on eggshells, hiding every part of himself from the prying eyes of the world. _Don’t fucking look at me._

But Steve? He wants Steve to look at him. Wants Steve to _see_ him. 

Steve made him a promise, and Billy has to see this through now. Has to hear why this is happening tonight, has to know for sure if this godforsaken world is finally giving him something he wants with no goddamn strings attached. 

“Okay,” Billy answers softly, sighing and looking up at Steve.

“Okay,” Steve replies with a grin, “You gonna carry me there?”

“You say that like you don’t think I could,” Billy purrs, dropping his voice low. He feels a surge of pride thrum in his chest when Steve hums and shifts in Billy’s grip, seeking out more of that earlier friction.

“Put your money where your mouth is, _Hargrove_ ,” Steve teases, and Billy’s not one to back down from a challenge. He walks back from the wall effortlessly, holding tightly to Steve’s thighs, even going so far as to slip one arm free and stretch it out to the side because he’s a fucking show-off. His hold on Steve doesn’t falter, not even with just one arm holding him up, and he can tell by the way Steve’s eyes are shining that he’s impressed.

“It’s that way.” Steve inclines his head in a vague direction behind Billy’s head.

“We’re probably gonna have to switch this around. You know, so I can _see where I’m going_?” 

Billy laughs as Steve enthusiastically jumps out of his hold, before spinning around and bending slightly forward so that Steve can jump on his back. Steve drapes his arms loosely over Billy’s shoulders as Billy tucks his arms under his legs and begins walking down the alley. Billy feels a warm press of lips against his neck and his face flushes.

As they cross the next block, the toe of Billy’s boot knocks into a crushed soda can and it goes clattering across the gravel, nearly drowning out the words Steve whispers in his ear. 

“I like you like this.”

“Like what?” Billy asks, turning his head to the side to try to get a better look at Steve.

“I don’t know. You just seem… _Free_ , I guess. Like you don’t have any Hawkins bullshit weighing you down out here.”

“Can’t blame everything on that town, even if it’s shitty. Most of the bullshit is probably my fault.” 

A part of him desperately hopes that Steve can hear the deeper meaning to his words. He isn’t ready to tell Steve how sorry he is, how sorry he’s _been,_ for what happened that night in November. He’s a piss-poor excuse of a human being, he knows that, but apologies have always been hard for him. Neil had beat so many of them out of him that they stopped feeling real. If he’s going to apologize to Steve, he wants it to be _real_. Steve deserves that.

Steve hums thoughtfully in his ear. Billy can see the hotel up ahead and feels a flicker of hope ignite in his chest, thinking about stripping Steve down on white sheets and getting to _touch_ him with the kind of freedom he’d only ever dreamed of. Even now, he can hear his father’s voice in his head. _You’re a dirty little faggot. A fucking queer._

“I think that everybody has a reason for acting how they do,” Steve finally murmurs in response, tightening his arms around Billy’s shoulders. 

“Yeah?” Billy asks, his voice strangled. Shit is feeling heavier the closer they get to the hotel, and he has a bad feeling he’s gonna end up spilling his guts to Steve before he can even manage to do what Steve asked of him.

Billy sets Steve down before they cross the street to the hotel—he can see a group of guys chain smoking out front, and he doesn’t want to deal with any hateful bullshit tonight.

Steve steps forward to cross the street but Billy grabs his hand, holding him in place. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” 

The words come easier than he thought they would, tumbling right out of his mouth and floating up into the sky, lingering there in the stars. When he brings his gaze back down, Steve is looking at him—his eyes are soft around the edges, a gentle smile playing on his lips. Billy immediately averts his gaze back down to the sidewalk, feeling cracked open and vulnerable in the worst way possible.

“I know. It’s okay.” Steve squeezes his hand, holding on tightly as he pulls him across the dimly-lit street.

They drop hands when they get to the front of the hotel, shuffling past the group of men gathered in a hazy cloud of smoke, who don’t spare them so much as a glance. Steve leads Billy across the carpeted lobby to a small elevator, getting in and pressing the button for the 4th floor. Billy wonders, distantly, if Steve can hear how loud his heart is pounding.

This would have been a lot easier if he’d just gone to the fucking hotel with Steve right when he’d mentioned it, instead of giving himself time to develop _feelings_ about it. He feels like a nervous 16-year-old about to take his girlfriend’s virginity on prom night, can only think about how perfect and _good_ he wants this to be for Steve because it might be his only chance. Not to mention, it might be Steve’s first time with a guy. And that… well. That’s a hell of a lot for Billy to take on.

The elevator doors open and Steve leads him down the hall to room 416. “You’re thinking really loud, you know,” he comments, grinning at Billy as he unlocks the door. 

Billy crowds Steve against the pale wallpaper once they’re inside, rucking up his shirt to place a gentle hand on the skin of his hip.

“Am I?” Billy asks, softly. He meets Steve’s eyes and tugs hesitantly at the blazer. Steve lets him push it off his shoulders and it falls to the floor. 

Billy holds his breath, trying to quell the shaking of his hands by his sides.

Steve’s fingers hover over the last two buttons on his shirt, the only ones that are done up. Billy gives a tremulous nod of consent before Steve makes quick work of them, the shirt fluttering to the floor to join his blazer.

They stand in silence for a long moment, their chests heaving as they stare at each other. Billy's heart leaps when Steve's eyes stray down to his torso, tentative fingers reaching out to touch the rippling planes of his abs.

"Did you seriously _oil_ your chest?" Steve asks, laughing softly. Billy smiles, all teeth, leaning into Steve's touch.

“What if I did?” He drops his voice low, _husky_ , and he hopes the false bravado is enough to distract Steve from how badly he’s trembling under his touch.

“You’re ridiculous,” is all Steve says, but he sounds so _fond_ , like he’s familiar enough with Billy’s antics that they don’t even surprise him anymore. Something about it leaves Billy unsteady.

“Can I—” Billy’s breathing is ragged as his fingers curl under the hem of Steve’s T-shirt. Steve lifts his arms and helps Billy shrug it off of him. Once Billy catches sight of bare skin, he immediately squeezes his eyes shut, a distant, hateful voice scolding him because he isn’t supposed to be _looking_.

_You’re a faggot. A fucking fairy. A no good, pathetic, pussy of a son._

Will he ever have a goddamn moment’s peace? Or have the words been thrown at him too many times, pressed too deeply into bloody cuts and broken bones, that they’re just a part of him now?

“It was Max, actually.” Steve’s words startle Billy back into the present, his father’s words scattering and dissolving into the stale air of the motel room. Billy blinks slowly, trying to make sense of what Steve just said. 

Steve must see the confusion on Billy’s face, because he continues, “Max told me about the skateboard.”

It’s a little out of left field, because he hadn’t exactly expected the shitbird to go yapping to her friends about the one non-asshole thing he’d done for her back in 1984.

Even a piece of shit like Billy knew something about _holiday spirit_ , okay? Christmas had felt like the right time to make amends. He’d seen the skateboard on a Saturday, when Neil had instructed him to take Max to the mall in the next town over so she could pick up gifts for her little nerd friends. When they’d split up to do their respective shopping, he saw it—Bright red, flames up and down the side, right there in the window. The girl at the counter was a peach, said they could even personalize it for him, so he had them add “Mad Max” and he put way too much thought into picking out the lettering he thought she’d like best. 

He’d had to sneak it out to the Camaro in a garbage bag the counter girl had pilfered for him, stuffing it in the trunk and running back into the store to meet Max at their rendezvous point before she had time to get suspicious. It might have taken all his spending cash, but it felt like making _progress—_ like maybe he could be something more than the stepbrother with the rage problem who took out his bullshit on the things she loved. He was tired of watching her duct tape that goddamn skateboard back together, tired of the guilty feeling that would wash over him every time he saw her fall off and hit the pavement. It was time to grow up and take responsibility for the things he’d done wrong, the people he’d hurt. The skateboard seemed like a good start.

Her face when she saw it under the tree that morning—no tag, haphazardly wrapped in newspaper—was worth it. He tried to play it cool, kept a straight face even when she opened it and screamed, but she _knew_. She cornered him in the hallway after he’d picked up all the wrapping paper from the floor and taken out the garbage (Neil’s orders) and hugged him so tight he couldn’t breathe. After a whispered “Thank you,” he thought that was the end of it. But the conversations in the car on the way to school became easier, and they stopped screaming at each other (for the most part). Sometimes, she even smiled at him. 

“So let me get this straight,” Billy begins, pulling at Steve’s belt and walking them backwards, “You want me to fuck you because I bought my little sister a skateboard. That's pretty weird, Harrington, even for you.”

“Thought you said she wasn’t your sister.” Steve smirks as Billy shoves him back onto the bed, crawling up after him and slotting his knee between Steve’s thighs.

“You think I’ve gone soft, don’t you,” Billy murmurs, digging his knee in harder, earning a punched-out whine from Steve.

“God, I hope not,” Steve replies, grinning cheekily as Billy rolls his eyes. 

Steve looks like a goddamn dream right now, his skin flushed pink and gorgeous, hair fanned out on the white comforter. It’s enough to make Billy pause his movements, eyes roving over Steve so he can commit it all to memory, file it away as a snapshot in his brain so that he can revisit it on those lonely nights where he wants to tear his way out of his own skin.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” Steve asks softly as Billy gently lowers himself down onto his elbows, their faces inches apart.

“Thinking these jeans would look a hell of a lot better on the floor,” Billy growls, fumbling at Steve’s belt and the buttons of his fly. Steve lifts his hips so that Billy can pull the denim off, going completely pliant when Billy slides a hand up the side of his naked thigh, humming appreciatively. Steve’s got on a pair of fitted black boxer briefs, his cock straining against the fabric, and Billy dies about ten different deaths at the sight.

“Your turn,” Steve murmurs, leaning down to start unbuttoning Billy’s fly with nimble fingers. Billy hears Steve’s breath catch and grins, licking across his teeth.

“Like what you see, pretty boy?” he asks, his eyes fluttering shut when he feels his cock spring free from the tight fabric as Steve shimmies the jeans down his hips. Steve lets out a grunt of acknowledgement as he struggles with the skin-tight denim, finally succeeding in ridding Billy of the offending fabric and throwing them across the room with a huff.

“Your jeans are _ridiculous_ ,” Steve grumbles, gripping Billy by the back of his neck and easing him down so that they’re pressed together, chest to chest. Billy draws in a shaky breath before he closes the distance, slotting their lips together and burying a hand in Steve’s hair.

Steve sighs into his mouth and settles a hand on Billy’s lower back, fingertips gently walking their way up and down the notches of his spine. The kiss is slow, unhurried, and Steve parts his lips for Billy’s tongue with no hesitation. Billy groans against Steve’s mouth, hooking a hand in Steve’s boxers and pulling them down his legs. Steve pauses to kick them off and bucks his hips up to meet Billy’s, the head of Billy’s dick already dripping with pre when he feels Steve slide against him.

“ _Fuck_ , Steve,” he grits out, reaching down to swipe his thumb through the pre before taking both of them in his hand. He moves his hand slowly at first, then begins building a quicker rhythm, moving back and forth along the length of them as Steve whines brokenly into his mouth. God, Steve’s cock feels so fucking _good_ in his hand, silky and absolutely _dripping_ with pre. His mouth starts to water at the thought of how that cock might feel on his tongue, how it might _taste_ , but Steve interrupts him with a breathless “ _Billy_.”

“Yeah?” Billy answers raggedly, running his tongue along Steve’s bottom lip before giving it a gentle nip.

“Nightstand drawer,” Steve breathes out against his mouth, looking at Billy meaningfully before his lust-addled brain catches on, practically wrenching the drawer open to find a bottle of lube and a string of condoms. He throws the condoms carelessly onto the bed and uncaps the lube, pouring a liberal amount onto his fingers.

“You ever done this before? With a guy?” Billy asks quietly as he hovers over Steve, suddenly feeling _extremely_ unsure.

Steve shakes his head back and forth slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Billy. He looks completely wrecked—mussed hair, a blush high on his cheeks, and his lips pink and kiss-swollen. Billy has never wanted to ruin someone as much as he wants to ruin Steve Harrington in this fucking moment.

“And you’re still sure about this,” Billy begins warily, eyes flickering over Steve’s body before coming back up to rest on his face. Steve nods, biting at his lower lip as he spreads his slender legs out further in invitation.

“Okay,” Billy breathes out, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to Steve’s lips before murmuring, “I’m gonna need you to relax your body, all right? Let all the tension go in your muscles. Like you’re melting down into the floor.”

Steve follows his instructions, letting himself go boneless and pliant beneath Billy, sinking down deeper into the mattress. Billy takes a deep breath and starts circling gently around Steve’s hole, his free hand pressing gingerly into Steve’s hip to hold him in place. He watches Steve’s eyes flutter shut, wriggling his hips ever so slightly under Billy’s grip, which Billy takes as an invitation to slowly press one finger inside.

A sharp gasp falls from Steve’s lips, his eyebrows knitted together as his body adjusts to the sensation. Billy gently crooks the tip of his finger inside of Steve before moving carefully in and out, keeping his eyes glued to Steve’s face for any signs of discomfort. The tension in Steve’s expression eventually relaxes, and a breathy little moan falls from his lips the next time Billy crooks his finger.

“Billy,” Steve whispers, looking up at Billy with glassy eyes.

“Yeah?” Billy murmurs, stroking his thumb across Steve’s hipbone in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

“Could you kiss me during this part?” Steve asks on a sigh, eyes fluttering closed again. 

Billy doesn’t have to be told twice; he leans down to press their lips together, sucking sweetly on Steve’s plump bottom lip before licking his way into his mouth, capturing a breathy moan when he adds a second finger.

“You okay?” he whispers as he fucks into Steve with two fingers, a sweet whine falling from Steve’s lips.

“Yeah, c’mere,” Steve replies, burying his hands in Billy’s curls and tugging him back down for another kiss. Billy smiles against Steve’s lips, loves how fuckin’ _needy_ Steve is right now, like he can’t get enough of Billy’s touch.

“You’re bein’ so _sweet_ for me,” Billy murmurs between kisses, “So fucking good.”

Steve practically _keens_ at his words, and Billy takes note of Steve’s reaction as he slips a third finger inside, past the knuckle. Steve definitely has a _thing_ for being praised and knowing he’s appreciated.

“You feel good, baby,” he whispers against Steve’s lips as he gently fucks into Steve with three fingers, stretching him open, “So wet and _tight_ for me.”

“ _Billy_ ,” Steve whines, pressing a sloppy kiss to the corner of Billy’s mouth, “Want you, Billy, _please_.”

Billy laughs softly against Steve’s lips, humming as he continues to stretch Steve out, making sure he’s good and ready for him. He gently pulls his fingers out, dripping with lube, and hastily rolls the condom on, slicking himself up a few more times before lining himself up with Steve.

“I’m gonna go real slow, try to relax into it,” Billy instructs softly, gently hiking Steve’s leg up for a better angle. Steve nods, staring at him as he carefully slides in just past the tip. He can see the momentary flash of discomfort across Steve’s face and pauses, waiting for a moment before going any further, listening to Steve’s uneven breathing. “Baby, _relax,_ ” he reminds Steve gently, stroking up and down the underside of Steve’s thigh.

Steve settles farther back into the pillows, unclenching his muscles and nodding at Billy to proceed. Billy pulls out a bit and pushes back in, giving Steve time to adjust, and keeps doing that little by little until he finally slides home, buried to the hilt. He hears Steve gasp when he takes Steve’s cock in his hand, rubbing his thumb in small circles along the tip.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Billy says, lazily stroking Steve’s dick. Steve is already bucking up into his grip, pressing his hips down where Billy’s buried inside of him, and after a few more seconds, Steve nods.

He starts slow, moving back and forth, Steve hissing at the sweet slide of friction, and only picks up the pace when Steve breathes, “ _More_ , Billy.”

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” Billy groans, moving Steve’s sweaty hair back from his forehead, “Fucking _gorgeous._ ”

Billy watches a blush burn bright on Steve’s cheeks, spreading delicately all the way down to his torso. He chases it with his fingertips, splaying his fingers across Steve’s chest, his heartbeat quickening beneath Billy’s palm. No daydream or late-night fantasy could have ever prepared Billy for how Steve would look like this, skin flushed and body gone pliant, gazing up at him with pupils blown wide and lips parted in ecstasy.

Steve tilts his hips up and cages Billy between his thighs, crossing his ankles over the small of Billy’s back and moaning at the shift in angle. “That’s it, Bambi,” Billy hums, brushing his lips against Steve’s forehead, “Want it to feel good for you.”

“ _Billy,_ ” Steve whispers, and he tilts his head so that the smooth column of his throat is exposed—an _invitation._ Billy takes it immediately, pressing a kiss to the underside of Steve’s jaw before sucking filthily at his pulse point, worrying the soft flesh between his teeth. He feels Steve’s throat vibrate with a soft moan, and it gets him snapping his hips into Steve a little harder, chasing his pleasure as it builds deep in his abdomen.

Steve’s fingers come up to bury themselves in his curls and tug him off of his neck, pulling Billy in for a bruising kiss. His lips part easy for Billy’s tongue, whining into his mouth, and Billy laughs into it, because _damn_ , sex has never felt this good for him.

He starts up a punishing pace, egged on by Steve’s breathy little moans and sighs, and feels himself coasting towards the edge. “‘m close, baby,” Billy whispers roughly, taking Steve’s dick in his hand and giving it a couple pulls, “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yeah, Billy. Wanna cum for you, wanna be _good_ for you,” Steve breathes out, bucking up into his hand.

Billy groans, burying his face into Steve’s neck, “Fuck, baby, you got no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”

Steve starts to skim his fingertips along the smooth planes of Billy’s back, scratching lightly with his nails, as Billy continues to fuck into him. His expression is completely dazed when Billy pulls back, swiping his thumb through all the pre dripping from the tip of Steve’s dick. Steve’s eyes go dark when Billy slips the tip of his thumb into his own mouth, his eyes fluttering closed as he sucks the taste of Steve from his skin.

He can feel his orgasm building, his body quaking with the tell-tale signs, but he wants Steve to get there with him _,_ so Billy snaps his hips a little harder and gives Steve’s cock a few more clever twists. A breathy groan falls from Steve’s lips and then he’s spilling over Billy’s hand, Billy tumbling over the edge not moments after.

Billy collapses against Steve’s chest, heaving in a few deep breaths into the crook of Steve’s neck before gingerly slipping out, tying off the condom and throwing it off to the side. Steve presses up close to him when he falls back against the pillows, nosing along the side of his neck.

“You good?” Billy asks, feeling tired and sated. A warm puff of air hits his neck when Steve laughs.

“Fucking _fantastic_ ,” Steve murmurs, brushing his lips against the underside of Billy’s jaw.

Billy shoots him a sideways glance, grinning. “Bet you say that to all the boys.”

“Nah,” Steve whispers, kissing sweetly down the side of Billy’s face, “Not _all_ of them.” 

They stare at each other for an extended moment, Billy’s heart crawling up his throat when he sees the raw, unadulterated affection in Steve’s eyes. Like Billy is _worth_ something, like this was more than just a casual fuck in a hotel room. It terrifies him, makes him want to pull on his jeans and run out the door before he falls too deeply into something he knows won’t last.

“I should—”

“Stay,” Steve finishes, winding his arms around him as if to stop him from fleeing, “You should stay.”

Billy’s heart pounds frantically against his ribcage as he stares at Steve, chewing on his lip. “Yeah?” he asks, whisper-soft.

“Yeah. We can get breakfast tomorrow. I’ll feed you. It’ll be adorable.” Steve grins, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“I dunno, pretty boy. Won’t people _talk_?”

“Oh, so you’ll dance with me and manhandle me, in front of God and _everyone_ , but you’re worried about us having breakfast together?”

Billy grins, licking across his teeth. “Touché.”

“So... you’ll stay?” Steve asks, cocking his head and gazing at Billy with all kinds of hope in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Billy murmurs, burying his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, inhaling the sweet smell of his cologne. Something about it makes him think of _home_. “I’ll stay.”

* * *

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks since waking up next to each other and crowding together in a shitty hotel shower, running gentle, reverent fingers along wet skin. Two weeks since cramming themselves into a tiny booth and knocking their knees together in some nameless downtown diner, sneaking bites of food to each other when no one was watching.

Two weeks of waking up gasping in the middle of the night, feeling the ghost of a touch on his skin, hearing a whisper of his name that once fell from a pretty pink mouth like some kind of holy prayer.

Two weeks of furtive glances in hallways, and sweat-soaked touches in practice. 

Two weeks of _wondering_.

Two weeks of _waiting_.

Until today.

It’s Friday, with one more class period between him and freedom, when Billy slams his locker door shut and finds Steve Harrington leaning casually behind it.

“Hey.” Steve’s lips are tilted up in a smirk, but he’s fiddling with the black Ray-Bans hanging from his preppy polo shirt like he’s _nervous_. Billy wants to absolutely devour him.

“King Steve. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Billy grins, leaning against his locker and popping his hip out.

“Heard your folks are going out of town again this weekend.” Steve’s voice is quiet, careful, and he leans closer as if they’re sharing some kind of secret.

“Yeah? What’s it to you?” Billy tries to play it cool, glance down the hall like he could care less, but he can feel the blush coloring his cheeks.

Steve huffs out a laugh, reaching out for Billy’s hand and pressing something cool into his palm. Billy flexes his hand open to find a small key, with a metallic ring reading _416_.

“Isn’t it illegal to steal hotel keys, Harrington?”

Steve rolls his eyes and rips his sunglasses from his shirt, pushing them up into his hair. “Not if you rebook the room, _Hargrove_.”

“Will Buckley be joining us?” Billy asks, feigning interest. Steve looks up at him through his lashes when he slowly shakes his head.

“No. Was thinking it could just be you and me.” Steve toes at the tile with the tip of his sneaker, biting his lip as he waits for Billy’s answer. For one deluded moment, Billy imagines what it would be like to lean forward and kiss the uncertainty right off of Steve’s face, onlookers be damned.

Billy grins and pockets the key. “You askin’ me on a date, Harrington?” 

“That depends. Is it working?” 

Steve smiles, all fucking _charm_ , and Billy can’t even pretend to play it cool at this point—Steve looks too damn good, and he’s been going crazy waiting to touch him again.

“Yeah. It’s working.” He glances around the hallway, finding it mostly empty, before reaching out to tug lightly at one of Steve’s belt loops. “Meet you after class?”

“Yeah, okay. Or we could skip and get a jump on the weekend.” Steve waggles his eyebrows suggestively, tilting his hips a little closer to Billy.

“Mm, someone sounds a little _eager,_ ” Billy murmurs, rubbing a thumb lightly along the bare skin of Steve’s stomach beneath his shirt.

“Maybe I am. You coming, or what?” Steve pulls away from him, tipping his sunglasses forward onto his nose and walking backwards towards the doors to the parking lot, arms outstretched.

Billy pinches the outline of the key in his pocket, letting Steve get all the way to the doors before he calls out his answer. 

“All right, I’ll bite.” He pushes off his locker and strides over to where Steve is waiting at the doors, slinging a casual arm around his shoulder before leaning down to whisper, 

“ _But only if you feed me my breakfast._ ” 


End file.
